Ring of Fire
by kjewls
Summary: She had set out to kill him . . . to avenge her mother's death. She never expected that he would end up saving her life, or that the two of them would end up joining forces against a common enemy. And she certainly never expected that he would end up melting her heart, while capturing her soul in a burning ring of fire.
1. Chapter 1

She hated the way they looked at her, now . . . the other hunters, her own father, _even Scott. _It was as if the mere fact of her mother dying had made Allison a different person in their eyes . . . someone pitiable, fragile and _over emotional._ In a sense, they were right. Her mother's death_ had_ made Allison a different person, but she was _anything_ but weak.

Rage was an incredibly powerful force, she learned. It could stiffen your bones, and increase the adrenaline surging through your muscles. But most importantly, it could build a cement wall around the most breakable part of your body . . . _your heart._

Only her grandfather seemed to understand, which was ironic, because . . . well . . . her grandfather was a total wackjob. She knew this. But still, it was refreshing to have at least one person in this world, who didn't treat her like a broken doll.

It was actually Gerard Argent who gave her the idea. Of course, he didn't say it to her explicitly. Instead, he merely locked his eyes on hers, when he told the rest of the hunters that the game had changed. Tonight, there would be a strategy meeting to discuss their new "secret weapon" against Beacon Hills' "Werewolf Problem." Attendance was mandatory.

Gerard inclined his chin toward Allison subtly, and winked, before informing the group that tonight would be the perfect night to strategize, because Derek's pack would all be attending the big lacrosse match against Capeside High. If the game went as it was expected to go, they would be out celebrating their teams victory through the night, leaving Derek alone and unguarded in his lair.

"_Message sent and received, old man_," Allison muttered under her breath, as she huddled on the staircase of the Argent family basement.

When she told her father she'd be going to the game, and then spending the night at Lydia's, he actually looked relieved to see his daughter behaving like a "normal teenage girl," for a change. Ever since his wife's death, Chris Argent seemed increasingly reluctant for Allison to take up the hunting lifestyle. Allison used this to her advantage, even managing to fake a smile, when she made her request . . . something she hadn't done in days.

"Of course, sweetheart. Have fun, and be safe," her father said.

For a second, he looked like he wanted to say more, but, ultimately, decided against it . . .

When she returned to her bedroom, there was a box on her bed, with a silver ribbon tied around it. Though there was no card, or any label indicating the sender, she knew exactly who it was from. Inside the box was a small hand gun, and two small packages of bullets, _silver tipped_. "Thanks, Grandpa," she said out loud, as she loaded the gun . . .

As much as Derek Hale cared about his new pack, truth be told, he was relieved to have them out of his hair for one night. Everything about the past few days had angered, frustrated, and exhausted him . . . from Victoria Argent's surprise attack on Scott, to Peter Hale's reawakening from the dead, to his standoff against the kanaima. But of all the things that had happened, it was Derek's discovery of Scott's betrayal that hurt him the most. First Kate Argent, than Uncle Peter, and now Scott . . . why did everyone Derek allowed himself to trust let him down?

The Alpha Wolf was starting to think he was a terrible judge of character . . .

Except this was no time to lick his wounds. Enemies of The Pack seemed to be increasing in number, by the minute. So, Derek needed to come up with a way to protect his progeny, and _fast_. He promised himself he wouldn't sleep until he came up with a surefire plan to do just that.

But the past three nights of no sleep had begun to take their toll on Derek. He felt his brain growing fuzzy around the edges. Thinking back on it, sitting down on that old rickety rocking chair was probably a mistake. As soon as he got off his feet, he felt his taut muscles instinctively relax. And the repeated back and forth motion of the chair was gradually lulling him into a stupor. The harder he tried to focus on the problem at hand, the heavier and heavier his eyes became . . .

Having prepared herself for instant battle, Allison was surprised to find the beast sound asleep in a chair that seemed about two sizes too small for his massive body. Derek Hale looked oddly peaceful like this, snoring lightly, with his chin tucked into his bare chest. His skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, despite it being about 40 degrees outside.

For a few brief seconds, Allison found herself mesmerized by the way his long eyelashes fluttered ever-so-slightly, as the muscles in his stomach, instinctively expanded and contracted. All the signs were there. The Alpha Wolf was _dreaming _. . . but about _what_, _or who?_

Even Allison had to admit that her enemy was extremely attractive. In a different life . . . in some alternate universe, she might have even developed a crush on him . . . spending long hours gabbing with her girlfriends about how sexy his body looked in those tight black shirts he always wore, and wondering what he looked like underneath them. Seeing Derek shirtless and vulnerable like this would have made _that_ Allison positively giddy with glee.

And yet here she was, looming over him, her gun pressed right up against the firm pectoral muscles that covered his heart. She tried to ignore the light shaking of her hands, as she placed her finger gently on the trigger. "This is for my mother, _you bastard_," she hissed.

Then, in a flash, her gun was on the floor, and two sets of sharp nails were digging into her wrists. Her face was inches from his, now. And his gleaming red eyes were burning holes into her chocolate brown ones. The sound of his growl reverberated around the whole room, making her feel like she was in a car, where the base on the stereo had been turned up much too high.

The Beast was _awake_ . . .


	2. Chapter 2

"Trust me, Allison, you don't want to do this," insisted the Alpha wolf.

His voice was measured and laconic, like a parent talking an errant child down from a temper tantrum.

"You have _no idea_ what I want," hissed the female werewolf hunter.

Allison felt the blood pooling down her wrists, where Derek's nails were digging into her skin. The Beast hadn't risen from his chair, since he had awoken. Instead, he simply lifted the brunette teen off the ground, and held her there, her legs twitching frantically beneath her, like a fish caught on a line. The youngest Argent quickly learned that struggling did her no good, as it not only tired her out, but also hastened her blood loss from Derek's claws.

Allison's father had once told her that patience was often the difference between a good hunter, and a _dead_ one. It was a lesson she took to heart. And so, eventually Allison stopped struggling, and waited patiently for her moment to strike . . .

"Except, I do know what you want, Allison," Derek replied calmly, his eyes no longer glowing red, as they bore insistently into Allison's own, as if silently daring her to meet their mesmerizing gaze. "I know what it's like to have the people you love ripped away from you . . . to lose a mother, and an aunt long before their time . . . to have your world shatter around you, so that all that remains is sadness, anger, and rage . . . to be consumed by an overwhelming desire for vengeance. Does any of this sound familiar to you?"

Allison shook her head stubbornly, not wanting to admit just how much she had in common with the monster she saw as her mother's murderer.

"You _could_ kill me, Allison. You might even enjoy doing it . . . seeing my life snuffed out, right before your eyes . . . the life of the man you blame for the death of your mother. But killing me won't bring her back. And it won't cure your sadness, your anger, or your rage. That hole in your heart will still remain. And what will you fill it with, when you can no longer fill it with your hatred of me?"

Derek saw Allison flinch at his words. Her lower lip had begun to quiver, and a single tear drop had formed in the corner of her left eye. A natural caretaker, Derek had the sudden urge to gently wipe that tear from the young hunter's face, with his thumb. Instinctively, he loosened his grip on her wrists, ever so slightly.

"Do you psychoanalyze _everyone_ who tries to kill you?" Allison whispered, her eyes becoming blurry with tears

Derek grinned, in spite of himself, lowering Allison back to the ground. "Only the ones who _fail._ It's been happening a lot lately, actually."

That was when Allison connected her knee with Derek's groin, forcing him to groan in pain, as the rocking chair, crashed to the floor, with Derek crumbled in a ball on top of it.

"That must be really frustrating for you," remarked Allison icily, as she rolled her body across the floor toward her gun. "But hey, with any luck, after today, you won't have to worry about anyone else _failing_ to kill you!"

The brunette immediately rose to her feet, and pointed her gun in the direction of the rocking chair. So, of course, you could imagine her surprise, when she learned that Derek was no longer there. Frantically, Allison spun around in a circle, careful to keep her gun pointed squarely in front of her at all times. Except, she should have been pointing it _up_, because that was where Derek came crashing down on top of her from on top of a wooden cabinet five feet above her head.

Allison grunted, as she felt Derek's weight press against her body, and sneered as he pinned both her arms to the floor. They were both breathing heavily now from the exertion. Allison's face flushed uncontrollably, as Derek's hot breath tickled the base of her neck, a spot on her body that Scott had once lovingly labeled her "happy place," given how sensitive it was to any sort of human contact.

In an attempt to release herself from this compromising position, Allison first tried shifting her hips upward, then, wrapping her legs around Derek's firm calves, then, rolling her body from side to side. But each move she tried was met with an even stronger counter move by Derek. To further complicate matters, the increased friction between their bodies, was making it extremely difficult for Allison to focus on the task at hand (though judging by the new "muscle" digging into Allison's inner thigh, Derek wasn't entirely immune to this either).

Eventually, Allison came to the conclusion that she would never overpower Derek, this way. For starters, he outweighed her by at least a good 75 pounds. Plus, wrestling had never exactly been her strong suit.

It was time for a different strategy. And desperate times called for desperate measures, which was why Allison opened her mouth as wide as she could manage, and forcefully dug her teeth into Derek's shoulder blade . . .

Derek yelped, rearing backward, as he instinctively raised his hand to touch his new wound. Allison could taste Derek's blood in her mouth, warm and metallic. It made her feel like a savage . . . like one of _them._ But at least it got her off the floor, as she raced once again for her gun.

"You _bit_ _me_, Allison. How's that for irony?" Derek noted, his voice unusually breathless and husky, as he attempted to wrench the gun from Allison's hand.

The youngest Argent then successfully managed to punch the Alpha with her free arm, connecting her fist with his jaw. But Derek's werewolf reflexes and superhuman healing ability enabled him to grab Allison her wrist, before she could pull it backwards from his face. Allison began her retreat then, stepping backwards toward the door, as she continued to battle Derek for the gun.

"You sure are a feisty one, Little Argent. Now, I know why Scott likes you so much," Derek growled, as he pushed Allison up against the wall of his lair.

"Leave Scott out of this," Allison hissed in Derek's ear, the unique musky earthy scent of his skin filling her nostrils, as she spoke.

"I wish I could," Derek said with gritted teeth, staring deeply into Allison's eyes. "But, like it or not, Scott has_ everything_ to do with what happened to your mother, and _everything_ to do with why you and I are in this situation right now. He's been lying to you, Allison. He's been lying to both of us."

"Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about," exclaimed Allison, fully aware of how petulant and immature she sounded

Allison's eyes filled with tears, once again, as she felt her fingers close over the cold hard metal of the gun trigger.

"Oh yeah? Why don't you ask your beloved Grandpa Gerard, who's been feeding him all his information, all this time? Think about it. How else would he know about my pack, about Jackson being the kanaima, about Matt, about YOU? Scott's been playing us all for fools. And, deep down, you know . . ."

The sound of a gunshot reverberated around the room, then. And Derek and Allison both instinctively fell to their knees. Allison heard the screams of pain, before she realized that she was the one making them.

Derek knelt down over the werewolf hunter, and rolled her pant leg up to her knee, as he examined the wound. Allison's first instinct was to back away from the Alpha. But something about the delicate way he touched her skin, convinced her to stay still.

"You_ literally_ shot yourself in the foot," Derek exclaimed, with concern, noting how quickly the blood was seeping from Allison's heel.

Allison winced, and felt the color drain from her face. The sight of the gory wound - combined with the blood loss, along with her exhaustion from fighting with Derek - was making her feel incredibly lightheaded.

"Hey . . . stay with me, OK?" Derek said, slapping Allison gently in the face, to keep her conscious. "I need you to take off your shirt," he instructed.

Allison blinked. Clearly, she had already started hallucinating. "Excuse me?" She uttered incredulously.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Get over yourself, Princess. I'm just going to use the fabric to make a tourniquet."

"Oh," Allison replied, a bit embarrassed, as she unzipped her hoodie and tossed it at Derek. The latter then expertly ripped off one of the hoodie's sleeves with his teeth, and began to tie it around Allison's wounded leg.

That was when the room began to fill with a strange grey mist. "Is something burning?" Allison asked, her eyes darting from left to right, as the fog around them thickened.

Given his keen sense of smell, it only took two whiffs for Derek to figure out exactly what was happening. And it wasn't good . . . _at all_. "You have to get out of here," Derek warned, as he felt his chest constrict painfully.

"I don't understand. What's going on? What is this stuff? Allison asked, wondering why the smoke seemed to be having a much more powerful affect on Derek, an Alpha, than it was having on her, a mere human.

Then, suddenly, it hit her. _Wolfsbane._

"RUN! Safe yourself," Derek managed to wheeze, before his head fell forward into Allison's lap.

"DEREK! DEREK, WAKE UP!" Allison exclaimed, lifting the werewolf's head in her hands

Then, she felt a surprisingly firm hand grabbing her from behind, and shoving a wet rag down her throat. Suddenly, her entire world faded into blackness . . .


	3. Chapter 3

When Derek regained consciousness, he was in an abandoned warehouse, hanging from the ceiling on a metal chain, back-to-back with a similarly shackled Allison. On the floor beneath them was a gaping cavernous hole, with a ring of fire surrounding it. The flames of that fire were rising, with each passing second.

The Alpha wolf rolled his eyes. His Uncle Peter always _did_ have a flare for the dramatic . . .

"You know, I liked you a whole lot better, when you were dead," Derek called out to the smiling man, who was leaning against a nearby doorway, with his arms folded across his chest.

Peter Hale pouted, feigning offense. "Now Derek, is that any way to speak to your favorite uncle, after he's traveled all this way just to see you? Granted, I guess we just saw one another, back at the old house, a few nights ago. But you weren't really in the mood to talk then, were you?"

Derek gritted his teeth, thinking back to the fateful night when young Lydia Martin had unwittingly used Derek's own blood to bring Peter Hale back from the dead. "Oh, that's right. I almost forgot. Good ole Uncle Pete . . . still using teenage girls to do his dirty work for him," Derek needled.

Peter chuckled cavalierly, taking his nephew's insult in stride. And why not? He wasn't the one hanging from the ceiling . . .

"The same could be said for you, Oh Wise and Exalted, Alpha Wolf," Peter sneered. "Trying your luck with _another _female Argent, I see? Haven't you learned anything from the _last time_? Though, I must say, this one is a good deal prettier than Kate. And I suspect she's a much more generous lover than her, as well."

"Leave Allison out of this," Derek snarled, though he wasn't sure why he suddenly felt so protective over the girl who had, just moments ago, nearly succeeded in killing him.

"He _wishes,"_ Allison said, at nearly the same time, causing Derek to laugh, in spite of himself.

"Ooh, struck a nerve, I see," replied Peter with a smirk. "My apologies, dear lady," the former Alpha concluded, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as he bowed faux-subserviently in Allison's direction.

"So, are you two going to continue this pissing contest, until all _three_ of us go up in flames, or are you actually going to tell us why we're here?" Allison asked, narrowing her eyes at Peter, as she tried in vain to free herself from the chains that currently bound her body in place.

"Oh, I like her! She has spunk," Peter mused, causing Allison to wish her hands were free, so that she could give him the middle finger. "Why you're here is quite simple, really. You see, each of you has something I want, and you are both going to help me to get it . . . just by being here."

Derek shook his head. He should have known. "You're never going to be Alpha again, Peter. My pack will never accept you as their leader."

Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But they _would_, if they thought that doing so would save your life."

Derek grimaced, both from the knowledge that what Peter said was likely true, and from the painful way the chains were digging into his wrists and ankles. "They'll kill you first," he growled.

Peter scoffed. "Ha, I've seen them fight. That's not likely. Maybe that linebacker-looking one would have half a shot. But those other two? I've seen Golden Retrievers, who were better trained. Face it, Derek. You're too soft to be a good pack leader. Your Betas need to _fear_ you, before they can respect you."

Allison interrupted. "I don't see what any of this has to do with me."

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Isn't it obvious? Your poor mother is dearly departed, Allison. (Thank you for that, by the way, Derek.) You're the Argent matriarch, now. That makes you _extremely valuable_ to me, and my new pack."

"When Daddy Dearest hears that you've been kidnapped, he'll send his entire werewolf hunting tribe out to rescue you, like lambs to a slaughter," Peter continued. "Then, I'll get to watch them all burn, like they watched _my_ family burn all those years ago. And when it's all over, I'll turn you into one of us, just for fun."

Allison winced, imagining her father . . . the man who taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow . . . who would bring her cookies and milk, whenever she was home sick from school, who took her to baseball games, when she was a little kid . . . burning to death in a fiery pit, followed by every member of the only family she's ever known. For some reason, this makes her think of Derek - the man currently tied to her, both literally and figuratively - and how _he _must have felt, watching his entire life go up in flames, right in front of him.

Allison locked eyes with her fellow hostage, and knew he was thinking about the exact same thing. The intensity of his gaze haunted her, and made her feel things for him that she'd rather not feel. Eventually, she had to look away . . .

"Well, it's been real nice catching up with you both. Unfortunately, I've got to go, and make a few phone calls. But, please, make yourselves at home," Pete said blithely, as he left the Warehouse of Horrors, slamming the door behind him.

"Clearly, charm runs in your family," Allison remarked icily, as she bucked repeatedly against the chains.

As she did this, her bare skin brushed repeatedly against Derek's own, in a not entirely unpleasant fashion. Derek, however, was so lost in thought, he barely noticed.

"You know, this isn't really the time to do the whole strong silent, broody bad boy thing," Allison scolded. "In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of dying here. And everyone we love is going to die too, if we don't do something about it."

"Right . . . because rocking back and forth, like you're riding a mechanical bull at a rodeo bar is _absolutely_ going to save your father, and my pack," Derek growled.

"Hey, at least I'm trying, which is more than I can say for _you_," Allison retorted. "What . . . are you just going to give up, and let him _win_?"

Derek glared at her. "Oh, I see. So, now, suddenly, you're on _my _side."

Allison smirked, causing Derek to notice what a cute smile she had, when she wasn't busy being such a raging bitch. "Don't get me wrong," countered Allison. "I still want you dead. I just don't want this asshole to be the one who gets to do it. That's _my_ job. And, seeing as how my fate is currently inextricably tied to yours . . ."

"Right . . ." Derek interrupted, gazing intently out at the fire below. "Well, during my broody strong silence, or whatever it is you call it, I think I've actually figured out a way to get us out of here. But you're going to have to trust me."

Allison scrunched up her face. "Trust _you_? Got a Plan B," she joked.

Derek chuckled loudly, shaking his head. "You're funny. Then again, I guess you'd have to have a sense of humor to date a guy like Scott."

Allison grinned, and rolled her eyes. This was probably the first time she ever heard Derek Hale make an actual joke, even if it just so happened to be at her sort-of ex boyfriend's expense. "Shut up," she said with a smirk, somehow managing to poke Derek in the back with her elbow, despite her arm being nearly entirely encased in chains.

"OK . . . here's how it's going to go down," Derek said, all business, once again. "I'm going to use my claws to break your shackles. As soon as I do that, I want you to hold on tight, and shimmy up this metal chain, as fast as you can. And then, I want you to _wait."_

"Wait for _what?"_ Allison asked, clearly confused.

"Wait for me to . . . um . . . slip into something more comfortable," Derek replied, his eyes gleaming red for a split second, before shifting back to their natural color.

"_More comfortable_? You're wearing sweatpants and no shirt. It doesn't get much more comfortable than that," Allison countered

Derek said nothing. He merely stared at Allison pointedly, and waited for her to catch on.

"Ohhh . . . OK . . . I'm an idiot. You, go, 'get comfortable' or whatever," Allison replied sheepishly.

"Thanks for your permission," Derek replied, as he sliced into Allison's shackles, without too much trouble.

In gym class, Allison had always been an expert rope climber, making it to the top, before guys twice her size, even made it up to the first rung. And now, she had the added incentive of not wanting to fall many feet to her death, which only made her travel faster. Derek looked on, clearly impressed.

By this point, the temperature in the room had reached over 90 degrees. And Allison and Derek were both sweating profusely, making it increasingly difficult to keep a grip on the metal chains that were currently keeping them alive. Derek knew he had to act fast.

Harnessing the rage of over twenty years of betrayals, abandonments and disappointments, Derek allowed his Alpha Wolf to gain control of his body. The room shook with the sound of Derek's growling battle cry, as he fought to find his anchor. He was going to need to retain at least some modicum of humanity to do what was required of him next.

Usually, Derek was anchored by his own anger and fiery determination. But this time, oddly enough, the thought that kept him in his own mind was that of _Allison_. For reasons Derek couldn't quite understand, he _needed_ to prove to her that he wasn't a monster. And to do that, he had to get her out of this _alive._

The Alpha wolf shimmied up the metal chain, and, no longer capable of human speech, gestured frantically for Allison to climb on his back. At first, Allison looked at the beast, horrified . . . images of him biting her mother crawled tauntingly through her consciousness. But as the flames crept ever closer to chain holding them aloft, Allison knew she had no choice but to do as the Alpha requested.

Allison wrapped her legs around the wolf's waist, and buried her face in the back of his neck. The smell of her sweat and perfume intoxicated Derek. And he found he had to shake his head back and forth to keep himself focused on the task at hand. Using all his strength, the Alpha wolf leaped over the cavernous pit below, and landed on his feet, directly in the fire.

The wolf groaned, as the flames licked his feet, but the pain only made him run faster. After reaching the warehouse door, he collapsed on firm wet grass, both relieved and exhausted, reuniting with his human form once again.

"We did it. I can't believe we did it," gasped Allison, trying to ignore the fact that the man lying next to her was now completely naked.

It was then that Derek opened his eyes, and noticed the burn marks covering the bottom of Allison's legs, her jeans having burned completely away in the scalding fire. "You're hurt. Those burns look pretty bad," Derek said, eyeing the raw red marks on Allison's inner thigh with concern.

Allison looked away, feeling unusually shy. "It's fine. _I'm fine_. The good news, is that now, I can barely tell where I've been shot."

But once the adrenaline of their narrow escape had worn off, the pain made itself known to Allison, causing her to scream in agony. Derek winced, wanting nothing more than to make that pain disappear. Then, he realized that he _could._ "I can heal you, you know," Derek offered solemnly, placing his hands on Allison's wet cheeks, as he spoke.

Allison shook her head vigorously. "I don't want it. I don't want to be a werewolf. I can't . . . I just . . ."

Derek smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair from Allison's face. "That's not what I was suggesting. I mean, yes, werewolf blood has healing power, but so does . . . our _saliva_."

Allison's eyes narrowed. "You want to _lick me?"_

Derek sighed. "Listen, we don't have much time. Peter is going to come back any minute, and you can't run on those legs. That makes you a liability to me."

Allison glared. "Oh, I see, so either I let you lick me, or you leave me here to die?"

Derek shrugged his big muscular shoulders. "Pretty much, yeah . . ."

Allison groaned in frustration. "Fine! Just . . . do it quickly, and try not to enjoy it too much, will you?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Wincing, Allison leaned back on her elbows, and opened her legs, ever so slightly. Derek delicately ran his tongue over each and every wound on Allison's skin, watching with fascination, as the scars disappeared, and the bloody cuts closed. As Allison stared up at the sky, she gradually felt the pain in her body lessen. She closed her eyes, allowing her muscles to relax, one by one. A warm feeling coursed through Allison's body, as Derek tended delicately to the wounds on her inner thighs, and she shuddered involuntarily.

The action, shook Derek out of his reverie, and caused him to look up at Allison's face. It appeared blissful, content, and oddly _amorous. _Derek never wanted to kiss someone as much as he wanted to kiss Allison Argent, right now. And a telltale stirring in his own body, told him he wanted to do _more_ than that. "I . . . uh . . . think you're healed now," Derek said rising abruptly, and turning so that his back was to Allison.

Allison blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and gradually rose to her feet. She then walked toward Derek, and placed her hand lightly on the small of his back. The contact sent a surge of electricity up Derek's spine.

"So . . . what comes next?" The werewolf hunter asked tentatively.

Derek exhaled, and stepped away from Allison's touch. He knew, all too well, that if he felt her skin on his again, he simply wouldn't be able to control himself. And that would be a Very Bad Thing, because, even though _his_ feelings for the feisty brunette had clearly changed, as a result of recent events, she still hated him with every fiber of her being . . . _didn't she?_

"Nothing happens," Derek said gruffly. "You go back to your werewolf-hating family, and go to bed. Tomorrow's a brand new day for you to try and kill me again."

Allison considered this for a moment, before placing herself squarely in front of Derek Hale, so that he could no longer avoid her gaze. "Don't get me wrong, she said, "I still want to kill you. But my priorities have changed. Right now, there's someone I'd like to kill much more. And I think you could help me do that."

Derek grinned, his eyes flaring red, once again. "Peter Hale," he said, baring his fangs.

"Peter Hale," Allison repeated solemnly.


	4. Chapter 4

_How do you kill someone who never seems to want to stay dead?_

This was the question that was plaguing Derek and Allison, as they sat across from one another in the basement of Isaac Lahey's abandoned house. (The location was chosen, because it was one of the few places that neither Peter Hale, nor the rest of the Argent clan, would likely come looking for them).

"Here, put this on," Derek said gruffly, tossing Allison a pair of navy shorts, and a red hooded sweatshirt, which he assumed belonged to Isaac.

Ever since the whole "licking incident," Derek was finding it more than a bit difficult to focus on the task at hand, particularly with a nearly nude Allison sitting so close to him. Having successfully tackled that "problem," he then found a larger pair of sweatpants (presumably the late Coach Lahey's) for himself.

Allison shivered involuntarily, as her eyes wandered over to the cooler, where Coach Lahey used to lock Isaac for hours at a time, for even the most minor of infractions. "I can't imagine a parent doing that to a child," Allison mused, knowing that Derek knew precisely to what she was referring. "I mean, I realize that my dad has some pretty . . . _unique_ . . . ideas about parenting. But deep down, I know that he would never intentionally hurt me. Every kid should have that, I think . . . a person, or a place, that makes them feel safe."

Derek shook his head solemnly. "Not just kids. I think we _all_ need that," he replied.

Allison looked thoughtfully at Derek, as if she was truly seeing him for the first time. "I think Isaac has that now with _you. _It's probably why he admires you so much. Your whole pack does, actually. I can see it in the way they look at you. You make them feel _special . . . _and wanted."

Derek was both surprised and oddly touched by Allison's words. Scott had often accused Derek of being selfish in his decision to turn Isaac, Erica and Boyd into werewolves. And, truth be told, he _did_ have his own personal reasons for wanting to build a pack. But he also had other reasons for doing it that had nothing to do with _him_ at all. Allison seemed to understand that instinctively, in a way that Derek wasn't sure anybody else could.

"What about you?" Derek asked, focusing intently on the grey dusty floor beneath him.

"What do you mean, what about _me_?" Allison inquired.

"Who makes you feel safe?"

Suddenly, Allison's neck and cheeks felt hot, and she wondered whether she was blushing. "I guess it used to be my dad. Then, it was Scott. Now? I don't know . . ." She replied wistfully.

Derek nodded. "Well . . . whatever . . . _whoever_ . . . it is, I hope you find it again soon."

They stared at one another in silence for a few emotionally charged moments. Allison found herself so entranced by the intensity of Derek's gaze that she didn't even realize she had been holding her breath.

_Get a grip, Allison. This man basically killed your mother! _The young werewolf hunter chided herself.

Clearly, it was time for a change of subject . . .

"So, Dr. Deaton said Peter is weak now, right?" Allison asked abruptly, purposefully breaking the spell between them.

"That's right," Derek replied.

"And obviously he's not the Alpha any more . . . _you are," _she added matter-of-factly.

"Also, right."

"So, why don't you just turn into that gorilla-looking thing, and kill him?"

Derek glared at the brunette sitting across from him. "First of all, it's not a 'gorilla-looking thing,' it's a wolf."

"Could have fooled me," Allison muttered under her breath.

"Second of all, it's not that easy."

Allison leaned back on her elbows, awaiting an explanation.

Derek rose and walked toward a nearby window, so that his back was facing his inquisitor. "I can't do it," the Alpha muttered, sounding almost ashamed. "I can't change into that . . . _thing."_

"Why not?"

"A wolf's form reflects his true nature," Derek replied emotionlessly, as if reading a line out of a textbook.

Allison considered this for a moment. "But still, you're an _Alpha_. You should at least be able to . . ."

"I said I CAN'T," Derek growled, startling Allison, as he knocked a few hardcover books off the window ledge with an angry swipe. "End of discussion."

Except it _wasn't_ the end. Allison rose and approached the werewolf, with her hands on her hips. "I bet I know why," she said smugly.

"Oh, please do _enlighten _me," Derek replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's the same reason Jackson freaks out at his own reflection, when he's the kanaima . . . _vanity."_

"I'm NOT vain," Derek grumbled.

Allison chuckled. "Oh really? How many hours a day do you have to work out to keep that flawless six-pack of yours?"

Derek rolled his eyes, and turned back toward the window. "You know, on second thought. I don't think this whole 'team work' thing is such a good idea. What do you say we go back to just trying to kill one another?"

Upon hearing this, Allison picked up a knife from a nearby table, and threw it directly at Derek's head. The Alpha wolf spun around and caught the blade, when it was just inches from penetrating the back of his skull.

"Oops," said Allison, with a sly smile.

"You knew I was going to catch that. You wouldn't have thrown it, if you didn't," Derek challenged.

Allison shrugged. "And _you_ know the real reason why you can't change into that gorilla-looking thing."

"Touche," Derek replied, leaning his back against the wall.

"Come on, Derek. If it's not vanity, then what is it? In case you haven't noticed, it's kind of a matter of life or death here."

Derek sighed and stared at the ceiling. "You know, my Uncle Peter . . . before he became . . . who he is _now _. . . was actually a pretty good guy. I looked up to him. He taught me how to stand up for myself, back when I used to get picked on for being small and skinny. And when I first started . . ._ changing_, it was Peter who taught me how to endure the pain of transformation. He helped me find my anchor . . . He kept me sane, and _human. _The Fire . . . it snuffed out everything that was good in him. And all that was left . . . I just . . ."

"You're afraid that, if you fully embrace being an Alpha, you'll end up like him," Allison concluded.

Derek said nothing, but the look he gave Allison told her she was right.

Allison hadn't yet told anyone about her hallucination. The memory of it just seemed too personal and painful to share, even with her closest friends. And yet, here she was revealing her deepest darkest secret to a man she was supposed to hate.

"That night that Peter came back to life, when Lydia spiked the punch with . . . whatever that was," the werewolf hunter began. "I had a vision that involved me shooting myself in the stomach with an arrow. . . except, it wasn't really me. I mean, it _looked _like me, and _sounded _like me, but it . . . _I_ . . . was someone else."

"You were Kate," Derek replied, his voice sounding strangely far away.

"Yeah," was all Allison could say.

"You're nothing like her, you know," Derek offered, approaching Allison tentatively. "I mean, I guess you are a little bit like her. You both have a real talent for torturing me."

Allison smiled.

"But even when I thought I was in love with Kate, deep down, I knew she was incapable of loving anyone but herself. That's not you. You've got a good heart," Derek insisted, placing his hand gently on Allison's cheek, before he even realized what he was doing.

She could tell that he wanted to kiss her by the hungry, longing look in his eyes. And if she was being completely honest with herself, she wanted to kiss him back just as much. _Screw it! You only live once, right?_ She thought, as she leaned in . . .

It was at that moment, that they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Derek put his finger to his lips, as his eyes darted from side-to-side, on Werewolf High Alert.

"It's Erica and Boyd. I'd know their scent anywhere," he whispered.

"Should we . . ." Allison began.

"They can't know we're here. I don't want them to know about Peter," Derek explained.

"Why can't they know?"

"Because, if they know, they will want to help. And I can't let them. Peter has already caused too much bloodshed in this town. And the only blood I want on my hands right now is _his_. Come on," he insisted, grabbing Allison's arm, as he tugged her into a nearby closet, and quietly shut the door behind them.

It didn't take long for the Alpha wolf and the werewolf hunter to figure out what Boyd and Erica were doing in Isaac's basement, in the middle of the night. The grunts, groans, and amorous sighs gave the surprisingly feral couple away, in a heartbeat.

Allison stifled a laugh. "Holy crap," she whispered. "Your wolf cubs are getting busy . . . _with one another_. Forget bestiality, isn't that like _incest?"_

Derek groaned, cupping his hand over Allison's mouth to keep her from giving away their location. But the bodily contact between the two, coupled with the amorous sounds coming from just outside the door, made the closet feel about twenty degrees hotter than it was just moments earlier. And things were about to get even more _heated . . ._

"Do you have something?" Erica asked tentatively.

"Shoot! I left the bag back in the car. Just wait here, I'll go get it," Boyd promised.

"No, don't bother. I think Isaac's dad has a box in his closet, though the thought of him actually having used it makes me want to vomit."

"Well, don't do that. It will destroy the mood," Boyd joked.

Allison's eyes widened, when she saw the open box of prophylactics on the floor near her feet. She was just in the process of pointing them out to Derek, when the closet door opened . . .

Thinking fast, Derek wrapped his arms around Allison's waist and pulled her up against the wall of the closet, allowing the pair to be obscured by an obscene amount of unfashionable jackets and raincoats. As Erica sat on the floor leisurely sifting through the condom box for one that was "ribbed for her pleasure," Derek and Allison were anxiously holding their breath with their bodies pressed up against one another.

To feel this beautiful creature so close to him . . . to_ smell_ her intoxicating scent . . . to _touch_ her soft skin . . . it was an exquisite agony that seemed almost too much for Derek to bear.

And then, just like that, it was_ over_ . . .

Erica closed the door to the closet. Shortly thereafter, the sound of departing footsteps told Derek and Allison that their intruders were heading upstairs (most likely to Isaac's bedroom to put Coach Lahey's condoms to use). The coast appeared to be clear . . . _for now . . ._

Derek thought Allison looked just the slightest bit reluctant, when she extricated herself from his protective embrace, and emerged from the darkness of the closet. "Well, that was close," she gasped.

"Yes, it was," Derek replied. _In more ways than one._ He added to himself.

"By the way," he added conversationally. "I think I've finally come up with a way to kill my uncle, and ensure that he doesn't just pop back up again, the next time he gets bored of being a corpse. The only problem is that it's going to require massive amounts of fire power, and some pretty powerful explosives . . . not exactly the kind of items one tends to have lying around the house."

Allison grinned. "Well, then, it's a good thing it's a good thing you've got an Argent on your side. Because, 'Firepower and Explosives' just so happens to be my middle name."


	5. Chapter 5

When she arrived at the Hale House, he was already waiting for her, leaning against the door frame in a manner that exuded smug superiority. She pushed past him, brusquely, refusing to say anything until the door was shut firmly behind her.

"So, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like _this_?" Peter Hale inquired with a sly grin.

"Do me a favor, and cut the crap, will ya? You_ know_ why I'm here. I want to make a deal," Allison replied, her eyes filled with cold determination.

"Oh, that's right. Your _deal . . . _I get Derek's life and control over his pack, in exchange for ensuring your family's safety and your own. It sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Except, I can't help but wonder how your boyfriend would feel about that."

Allison grimaced. "Scott's feelings are not my concern, anymore," she responded icily, though there was a slight catch in her voice that belied the veracity of her statement.

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Ahhh, so I take it you two lovebirds aren't together anymore? That's a shame. I always really liked that kid."

Allison rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you did," she said sarcastically. "So, do we have a deal or not?"

"A few minor questions, if you don't mind. First, what makes you so sure Derek will take your bait?"

Allison moved toward the staircase, and began absentmindedly trailing her fingers across the banister. "Because," she answered, "he _trusts _me."

Peter chuckled, as he thoughtfully stroked his chin. "Trusts _you?"_ He scoffed. "An _Argent_? The woman who's mother died, because of the bite he gave her? That doesn't sound like the Derek_ I_ know."

Allison shrugged her shoulders, casually. "I can be very persuasive, when I want to be," she insisted, with a slight gleam in her eye.

Peter cocked his head sideways at Allison, and then winked at her, in a way that gave her chills. "Now, _that_ I can believe," he mused. "But, what about _your_ family? How can I be assured they won't come after me, the minute Derek is gone? Because, last I checked, they were all still a wee bit pissed at me for that whole pesky 'Kate' situation," he noted, flicking his hand haphazardly in front of his face, as if he was swatting at a pesky fly.

Allison boldly approached the former Alpha, and looked him straight in the eye, for the first time. "They can't kill you, if they can't_ find_ you," she offered. "You see, a key part of this deal, is you taking your new pack and skipping town."

Peter nodded in consideration. "Beacon Hills would become a one-werewolf town," he concluded, of course, referring to Scott. "Interesting . . . And yet, what on Earth would a family of werewolf hunters do with no werewolves _to hunt_?"

"Probably shoot deer, rabbits and squirrels, like everybody else," Allison answered wryly. "It's safer that way, I think . . . _for everyone_."

"I agree," said Peter with finality. "You know what? What the hell? You've got yourself a deal, Little Argent."

"Good. It's settled then," she insisted, extending her hand for him to shake.

Peter took a step backward. "Oh, I'm not shaking your hand."

Allison examined her palm, feigning offense. However, the truth of the matter was, she would just as soon not shake the hand of the monster, who had killed her aunt. "Why not? Worried about getting Argent cooties?"

Peter grinned. "Oh, on the contrary, Allison. You see, I've never much approved of handshaking, in general. It's just so_ cold_ and formal. I'd like to cement our agreement in a way that is much more _personal."_

Allison took a deep breath, trying to hide her discomfort. "What exactly did you have in mind?" She managed to utter, in a voice that sounded strangely foreign to her ears.

Peter took a step toward Allison, and gently elevated her chin with his index finger. "A kiss," he said softly.

Allison blinked hard. "I . . . I don't think . . ." she stuttered.

"No kiss, no deal, Allison. It's _that_ simple," Peter interrupted calmly.

"Fine," Allison relented, closing her eyes tightly, in an effort to distance her mind from what was about to happen to her body.

But beneath her closed lids, it was _Derek's_ face looming before her. And before she knew it he was leaning forward, and parting her lips in anticipation . . .

That was when she felt the searing pain in her stomach. Gasping for air, she moved her hands delicately toward the source of her new agony. Immediately her fingers became slick with her own blood. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"One of the great things about werewolves, Allison, is that we have a remarkable sense of smell," Peter whispered in her ear, as her eyes widened in horror. "Smell has always been kind of underrated, as far as the five senses go. I mean, you ask someone, if he had to give up one of his senses, which one would it be? About 9 times out of 10, he's going to go with smell. What people don't realize is how useful a finely tuned nose can be for doing things like . . . choosing a compatible mate, locating family members, hunting down prey . . . smelling _danger._ Now, surely, when you were a little kid, your teachers taught you not to play with fire, Allison. It's a pity they never got around to telling you not to play with _dynamite_."

Allison staggered backward, her hands clutching her sides, as she fell to the floor.

"And so another Argent meets her demise in the Hale House," Peter declared out loud, as he moved toward the door. "Talk about poetic justice."

Peter definitely wasn't expecting the punch in the face he got the minute he opened the door. The recently undead werewolf was lying on the ground, unconscious, faster than you could say . . .

"Derek," Allison called out, her voice sounding weak, and her words slightly slurred.

Derek knelt down beside his erstwhile enemy, his eyes filling with concern, as he silently examined her wound. "This wasn't the plan," he scolded. "You were just supposed to get the bombs. I was_ supposed_ to be the bait. How could you be so incredibly stupid?"

Allison smiled dazedly. "Well, I _did_ get the bombs . . ."

"I know, I can _smell_ them," replied Derek.

"_Now_, you tell me," joked Allison feebly.

"How much time do we have?"

Derek was clearly referring to the time she had set the explosives to detonate. And yet, given the way Allison's world was already starting to get fuzzy around the edges, as blood continued to seep from the gaping hole in her stomach, she couldn't help but wonder whether the answer to that question, _for her_, was a different one entirely.

"Five minutes," Allison replied.

But Derek must have understood the unspoken implication of her statement, as he effortlessly scooped her injured form up in his arms, and dashed for the door.

If only it had been that easy . . .

Blocking the door, like a bouncer at a rave, was a very large, very black, gorilla-looking thing . . .

"That's not possible. I'm still the Alpha!" Derek insisted, more to himself than to anyone else.

The monster laughed uproariously at this. "Funny thing about leaving the land of the living," it replied, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Darth Vader's. "The normal rules no longer seem to apply to you. Have you ever had a dream about someone who's passed on, Derek? You ever notice how you never see them as a corpse, or old and frail, even if that's what they were, when they died. You see them, as you want to see them. And this is obviously how you _want_ to see me."

"I _want_ to see you blown to pieces," Derek growled, his eyes flaring red, as he gently lowered Allison to the ground, prepping for a fight.

"Face it, Derek," Peter concluded, his voice now sounding more like his own. "You were never meant to be an Alpha. You know it. I know it. And now, your subconscious knows it too."

Derek froze. _Was his uncle right? Was picturing his undead brother in Alpha form his subconscious way of avoiding the responsibilities that come with being a leader? _He then looked down at Allison, who, despite being in agonizing pain, managed to muster up the strength to mouth out four words to her enemy-turned-temporary-ally. And it was those four words that made all the difference . . .

"I'll be your _anchor_," she said.

Almost instantly, Derek felt his body changing. He was getting taller, more muscular . . . his skin was darkening, his fangs lengthening. Derek Hale didn't have to look in the mirror to know that he had finally, after all these months of trying and failing, managed to assume Alpha form . . .

Across the floor of the Hale house, the two Alphas battled one another fiercely, until it became nearly impossible for a bystander to distinguish which one was which. As the clock ticked closer to detonation time, Derek had started to become frustrated. How do you conquer an opponent, who fights _exactly _like you?

Every time Derek swiped at Peter with his left hand, Peter would counter with his right. Whenever Derek would leap forward to tackle Peter to the ground, Peter would do the same thing. And the two would wind up being propelled backwards, by the force of their own equal weight.

This was clearly _not_ working . . .

Then, Derek remembered what Peter had said. Maybe he was only seeing Peter as the Alpha, because that's what he _wanted_ to see. Sure, it sounded ridiculous. But with T minus one minute until detonation time, anything was worth a try.

Alpha Derek closed his eyes, and quickly began reciting a mantra in his head. "I'm the Alpha. Peter Hale is dead. I'm the Alpha. Peter Hale is dead."

Then, with his eyes still closed, Derek extended his claw toward the body of his adversary, feeling the blood pool around it, as he broke through the skin . . . the _human_ skin. Peter gasped in anguish, as Derek's nails lifted his body upward, while ripping through the cartilage of his heart. With a triumphant growl, the Alpha tossed a lifeless Peter to the ground. And, in a flash, he . . . _Derek . . ._ was human once more.

Derek again lifted up the wounded body of Allison Argent, and dashed for the door. This time, nothing was standing in his way. He was out the door and onto the lawn, just seconds before he heard the explosion . . .

Exhausted, his face covered with dirt and grime, Derek felt his eyes blur with tears, as he examined the pile of dirt and ash that used to be his childhood home . . . the only place he ever really _felt _safe . . . the only place he ever truly felt love. "It's over," he said with finality.

Then, Derek felt delicate fingers caressing his face, and wiping his tears away. He turned slowly, and found Allison's face just inches from his own. He could tell she was in an excruciating amount of pain. He'd have to heal her quickly, or risk losing her forever. But right then, in that moment, Derek only saw one emotion in those intense long-lashed brown eyes . . . _love._

She brought her lips to his, then, first tentatively, then warmly, and finally, with a passion that shook Derek to his very core. He pulled her toward him hungrily, his hands running up and down her back, his stomach pressed against hers. He moaned appreciatively, as her fingers massaged his neck, and snaked through his short dark hair. All the while they were kissing one another, reveling in the euphoria of a world that, for this brief moment, didn't seem like such a horrible place, after all.

Then, Allison collapsed in Derek's arms . . .

She woke up in her own bed, clad in an extra large Beacon Hills High t-shirt, feeling a bit achy but otherwise OK. For a few dark moments, she wondered whether it had all been one horrible, but amazing, dream. But then her hands crept up her shirt, and located the circular scar on her stomach. . . the one that reminded her that it was all _very_ real . . .

So, you could imagine Allison's surprise, when she saw her grandfather standing over her bed, with a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Sorry to wake you, Allison. I know how much you teenagers like to sleep in on the weekend," Gerard mused gregariously. "I just thought you might like to become acquainted with the new family pet.

Gerard took one giant step to his right, and in his place was a very familiar looking monster . . .

Allison screamed, as the kanaima ripped her from her bed.


	6. Chapter 6

"Now, now . . . Kanaima. Is that any way to treat a member of your new family?" Gerard chastised the giant lizard, which currently had his green scaly arm around Allison's neck, and was holding her suspended in the air.

The Kanaima then dropped the werewolf hunter like a hot sack of potatoes, looking not nearly apologetic enough for Allison's taste, as she continued to gasp for air.

Gerard grinned, as he patted Allison on the head, patronizingly. "Now, I'll admit, he's not as cute and cuddly as a Golden Retriever, but he doesn't require nearly as much training in obedience. Plus, a Golden Retriever can't make you breakfast, every morning."

Allison managed to plaster a stiff smile on her face, as she beckoned Gerard toward her, and spoke to him through gritted teeth. "What is Jack . . . the Kanaima . . . doing in _our house?"_

Gerard beckoned the large lizard with his right hand. "Kanaima, why don't you go and make Allison some of those delicious pancakes you cooked up for me, yesterday?"

With a slight nod, the Kanaima slithered out of Allison's bedroom, en route to the kitchen. "Pretty cool, huh?" Gerard said with a wink.

Allison sat up in bed abruptly, and turned to face her grandfather. "Something happened last night," she began solemnly.

"Ahh, yes. I heard about the Hale house explosion. Pity. That place never was quite up to fire code, was it?" He mused, giving his granddaughter a sideways look.

"No, I guess it wasn't," Allison replied with as little emotion as she could muster.

"It's OK, Allison. Your secret is safe with me. After all, you and I are on the same team. We want the same things. _Don't _we?" Gerard asked evenly, though there was a threatening edge to his voice that hinted he might somehow know more about the nature of the previous night's explosion than just which young werewolf hunter detonated it.

"Yes," whispered Allison, blinking heavily. "We are."

* * *

"Dad, Gerard has _seriously_ cracked!" Allison exclaimed, as she stormed into the basement, where her father was studying some maps, while news of last night's explosion played in the background on the local news.

Chris Argent smirked, without lifting his eyes from a crude drawing of a hill on the piece of paper before him. "Hmmm . . . so, he's back to being 'Gerard' now, I see. No more, _Grandpa Dearest_?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "Dad, this is serious! He's got a murderous lizard up there, in _our kitchen_, wearing an apron, and waving around a spatula!"

"Yes, _but_ at least, during the time it takes for the murderous lizard to bake you a balanced breakfast, he won't be bludgeoning innocent humans to death," Chris noted wryly, as he lifted a large samurai knife off the wall and examined it critically.

Allison sighed, as she sunk into a nearby chair. "Dad, I know you've been _disappointed _in the way I've been acting, lately."

Chris finally abandoned his maps, and kneeled down in front of his daughter. "I'm not disappointed in you. I don't think I could ever be disappointed in you. You're the best thing that ever happened to your mother and me. But I _am_ worried about you."

"You're worried that losing mom has turned me into a crossbow-wielding lunatic," Allison concluded bitterly.

Chris shook his head. "I'm _worried_ that you're internalizing your recent loss in a way that isn't necessarily healthy. And I know your mother wouldn't have wanted that."

Allison bit her lower lip. "But Dad, if you read that letter . . . she just seemed so _angry _. . . so determined to rid the world of werewolves, once in for all. She didn't want her death to be in vain. She wanted me to carry on her legacy. How could I not obey her final wishes?"

Chris looked up at his child, confused. "_What_ letter? That fake suicide note? Honey, you know that wasn't . . ."

"The _letter_, Dad! The letter she wrote for me, before . . ."

Chris frowned. "Sweetie, I don't know how to tell you this, but your mother never wrote you a letter."

Allison's eyes filled with tears. "That's not true," she said softly. "She did. I read it."

"I know she _wanted_ to write something," Chris continued. "She just couldn't find the words. Those last few hours, she seemed different somehow. She kept talking about how we'd been wrong in forcing this life on you. She said that you were better than this, better than _us_ . . . that you were _smart and kind, _and destined for bigger things."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Allison whispered tearfully.

Chris placed his hand lovingly on his daughter's shoulder. "I should have. But you were so upset, and focusing on the hunting seemed to make you less sad, somehow. I thought that taking that away from you would be like losing her all over again."

"But if Mom didn't write that letter, than who did?" Allison inquired, her lower lip quivering.

Chris grimaced. "I think you _know_."

Allison began to cry, burying her face in her hands. "Oh, Dad. I'm such an idiot! How could I be so stupid?"

Chris wrapped his arms around his daughter, as she sobbed into his chest. "No, Allison, you're not _so stupid," _he insisted. "You're _so_ human."

* * *

"I need to talk to Derek," Allison said frantically, still panting and out of breath, as she arrived on the doorstep, of the werewolf pack's temporary headquarters.

"And I need a manicure. Unfortunately, we can't always get what we want," Erica replied icily, her hands on her hips.

Flanking the female werewolf on either side were Boyd and Isaac, both of whom had their fangs bared and their eyes aglow with feral malice.

"You can retract your claws, guys. I got this one," said Derek, as he appeared behind the threesome, clad in his trademark white tank top, and well-worn blue jeans.

Erica let out a long low growl, before reluctantly stepping aside, and allowing Allison to pass over the threshold into the building.

"Come into my office," instructed Derek with a smirk, as he gently placed his hand on the small of Allison's back and led her to the back corner of the warehouse.

Derek's "office" just so happened to be a claustrophobically small bathroom . . .

"We'll be right out here, if you need us," insisted Erica, offering Allison a parting mean girl scowl, as Derek closed the door behind them.

"Wow, I guess my dreams of being Queen of the Werewolf Pack Prom are out of the question," Allison mused.

Derek shrugged his shoulders. "Try not to take it personally. They're like that with everyone who tries to kill me."

Allison frowned, realizing she probably deserved that . . .

"Hey," began Derek, as he clasped her small delicate hands in his large clumsy bear claws.

"Hey," replied Allison, surprised by how shy she suddenly felt, like a school girl with a crush on her teacher.

Derek grabbed her face in his hands then, and started kissing her, his lips feeling unexpectedly soft and pliable against her own. He then began to move his mouth, down the base of her chin and beyond, trailing kisses along the nape of her neck, and across her chest. The sensation caused Allison to arch her back against the nearby sink, as a soft moan of pleasure escaped her lips.

When she felt his hands creeping up the fabric of her black tank top, she knew she needed to speak now, before all capability for rational thought left her body. "Derek," she whispered, pressing her hands against his chest.

"Yeah?" He answered, his voice sounding breathless and husky, as a low growl emitted from the base of his throat.

"I need to tell you something," she said, trying in vain to regain control of her senses, as Derek tantalizingly nibbled on her earlobe.

"Uh-huh," mumbled Derek, absentmindedly, as he pulled Allison closer to him.

"_Now_," insisted Allison reluctantly, causing Derek to let go of her, and take a step backward.

The Alpha wolf leaned against the back of the bathroom door and waited . . .

Allison took a deep breath, and began her confession. "When I found out my mother had died, I know I went a little crazy. . . I just . . . I needed someone to blame, so I lashed out at you. And that was wrong."

"Allison, we really don't have to . . ." Derek began.

"No, please . . . let me finish. I loved my mother . . . I _still_ love her. But she was very narrow-minded about certain things. And I'm coming to terms with the fact that, what happened to her was at least partly her own fault. You're a _good_ person, Derek . . . kind, generous, and loyal to the people you care about . . . like your pack, and Scott. I hate that I let Gerard cloud my judgment, and prevent me from seeing what was right in front of me all along. I guess what I'm really trying to say is . . . _I'm sorry_."

Derek blinked, clearly touched by Allison's words. "Thank you," he said solemnly.

"So you can imagine how hard it is for me to tell you that Gerard has control of the Kanaima now. And it's living in my house. And it's probably going to kill you and your entire pack tomorrow night, if we don't do something to stop it," Allison blurted out.

Derek's response to this news was muffled by loud shouts, growls, and the sound of furniture being tossed around the warehouse. Upon opening the door to the bathroom, Derek found the source of the chaos. Scott McCall had popped in for an unexpected visit. And Derek's pack wasn't handling news of his recent betrayal all that well . . .


	7. Chapter 7

"Is this some kind of weird pack ritual?" Scott inquired, dumbfounded, as Boyd pinned the smaller werewolf's arms behind his body, and Isaac grabbed both of his legs.

"Yeah, it's part of our initiation. We rip the hearts out of traitors to the pack, and _eat_ them," sneered Boyd, his yellow eyes ablaze with fury.

It was at that moment that Derek emerged from the bathroom, his arms folded across his chest.

"_Traitors to the pack?_ Is this some kind of joke?" Scott asked, searching Derek's implacable face for clues.

"I don't see anyone laughing, do you?" Derek replied, before directing his attention back to the pack. "Hey guys, do any of you have any messages for _Gerard Argent_? His _Messenger Boy_ is here. And he'd be more than happy to tell Gerard anything you have to say."

The pack remained completely silent, save for a chorus of growls that they trained in Scott's direction.

"How about you, Allison? Do _you_ have any messages for Gerard?" Derek called out over his shoulder.

Slowly, Allison emerged from the bathroom, guilt etched across the contours of her face. Scott's eyes widened and narrowed as a number of things became clear to him all at once.

"Listen," began Scott. "I know what you probably heard, but it's not what you think."

Though he was addressing Derek, Scott kept his steely gaze on Allison, while he spoke. The latter managed to meet his eyes for only a brief, emotionally charged, moment, before pointedly looking away.

"Of course not," replied Derek coldly. "And you would know, _Scott_, since you are _clearly_ an expert on the thoughts and feelings of others."

Scott sighed, exasperated. "He threatened to kill _my mother_, Derek. What was I supposed do?"

Derek's expression softened a little bit at the mention of Scott's mother. He knew how close the two of them were. "You were _supposed_ to tell your pack. We could have helped protect her. Then again, you never really considered _us_ part of your pack, did you, Scott?"

"No, I didn't," Scott replied honestly.

Derek shook his head. "Boyd . . . Isaac . . . let him go."

Isaac turned toward his Alpha, in shock. "Are you kidding? Did you hear what he just said?"

"Yes . . . I did. And as your Alpha, I command you to let him go."

After some discontented grumbling, Boyd and Isaac abruptly released their grip on Scott, causing the werewolf to tumble to the floor.

"Scott McCall may not be a member of our pack. But with the kanaima and Gerard bent on destroying us all, we are going to need all the help we can get," Derek explained.

"I'm glad you feel that way," replied Scott, with a slight grin. "Because I . . ."

" . . . because you brought Stiles," Derek concluded, rolling his eyes.

"Thanks Derek, you always know how to make a guy feel welcome," called out Stiles, as he bounded through the front door of the warehouse, which, in all the confusion, the pack had failed to lock.

Derek would never admit it out loud, but, lately, he had come to grudgingly appreciate Scott's wisecracking human pal. Stiles always managed to insert a kind of sarcastic levity into even the most dire of situations. Plus, the teen was a whiz, when it came to research. This was important, especially considering the fact that the rest of his pack, would sooner _eat_ a bestiary, than read it.

The person who came through the door next, though, surprised even Scott . . .

"You brought, _Lydia?" _The teen wolf asked incredulously.

Stiles shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, Scooby Doo, if you are going to insist I be the Velma in your little crime-fighting team, the least you can do is let me bring along my Daphne."

Lydia crinkled up her nose. "Your _Daphne_? Stiles, is this one of your nerdy comic book references?"

Stiles smirked. "Seriously? You _never_ watched Scooby Doo, when you were a kid? Much to learn . . . you still have," he added, offering up his best Yoda impression.

"What are you talking about? And why are you using that weird voice?" Lydia asked, clearly confused.

Stiles grinned. "Ahhh, Lydia. Sometimes, I think you and I speak different languages."

Lydia feigned a pout, but there was a smile hidden underneath. "For your information, I speak_ ten_ languages. I just happen not to be fluent in _Weird_."

Allison looked from Stiles to Lydia, and back to Stiles, noticing the newfound sexual tension between them. Clearly, she and Derek weren't the only two people who had experienced a "change of heart" recently . . .

Scott, however, still had concerns. "But Stiles," he said with gritted teeth, "Lydia . . . _and Peter_ . . ."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Come on, Scott. The guy hijacked my brain, made me run around naked for a couple of days, and forced me to drug my friends with psychedelic punch. That doesn't exactly make us besties."

"Besides," interrupted Derek cavalierly, "Allison and I killed Peter last night . . . _again_. So, he's not really a threat anymore."

Scott once again looked at Allison. And she once again looked away.

"See? Problem solved," Lydia concluded, a satisfied expression on her face.

"Fine, Lydia stays. Now, does anyone actually have a _plan_ on how to stop the kanaima from murdering us all in our sleep tonight?" Scott demanded.

"Actually, Stiles and I came up with something, while we were . . ." Lydia snuck a sly look at Stiles, before turning her attention back to the crowd. " . . . anyway . . . we have a plan."

"So, I take it you told her everything?" Scott asked Stiles, pointedly.

Stiles nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I think she needed to know. Besides," he added with a grin. "Lydia can be very . . .ah . . . _persuasive_, when she wants to be."

"Great . . . you two are obviously boning. Congratulations! Now, can we get to the part about _The Plan_, please?" Isaac interrupted impatiently.

Lydia clasped her hands in front of her, like she was giving an oral presentation in class, and began to speak. "Today just so happens to be the anniversary of the death of Jackson's biological parents. Every year, since I've known Jackson, he's visited his parents' gravesite, at the exact time they died. Morbid, I know. But at least he'll be alone."

Allison looked up thoughtfully. "But how do you know he'll go, _this year_? I mean, I saw him this morning. Gerard has him on a pretty tight leash."

"Gerard can't afford _not _to let him go," countered Lydia. "If what Stiles told me is correct, the reason Jackson turned into a kanaima, in the first place, is that he lacks a sense of identity. His parents' death is a big reason for that. It's in Gerard's best interest for Jackson to be regularly reminded of this."

"OK, so we meet him there, and then we_ kill_ him, right?" Erica inquired.

"No," snapped Lydia. "We meet him there, and then we _save _him."

"But how?" Scott wondered out loud.

"The bestiary says that the kanaima is always seeking a Master. This presumes that he or _it_ has at least some choice in the matter. And I'm assuming, if Jackson _has_ to have a Master, he'd choose one of us, over Allison's Psychotic Dirtbag Grandfather . . . no offense," she added, sneaking a guilty look in the brunette's direction.

"None taken," replied Allison coolly.

"If Jackson had a _good_ Master, he wouldn't have to turn into a big ugly lizard and kill people, everyday. In fact, he might not have to turn into a lizard at all," Lydia concluded.

"OK. But which of us would be the Master?" Derek asked.

"It would have to be someone with a motive for vengeance. Someone who has enough anger and rage to be capable of murder, but who possesses the strength not to act on that rage," Stiles replied.

"Allison," answered Derek decisively.

Allison's eyes widened. "But Derek . . ." she argued.

Derek smiled and nodded. "I trust you," he said.

It was as though everyone else in the room disappeared. Allison looked at Derek, and he looked back at her. In that instant, a thousand unspoken words exchanged between them . . . so that all she had to say was, "Thank you."

Scott suddenly had to fight back an overpowering urge to vomit . . .

"Awesome! It's settled. Jackson has a brand new Master. Yay! So, what do you say we all head on down to the cemetery? Because this place is giving me the creeps," announced Stiles.

* * *

Derek and his pack led the way to the cemetery, with Stiles and Lydia trailing not far behind them. Scott noted that the latter two were holding hands, while they walked.

Scott and Allison hung back from the crowd. "So, I guess you got over that whole, 'blaming werewolves for your Mom's death' thing, didn't you?" Scott asked coldly. "Or maybe it was never about blaming _werewolves_. Maybe it was only about blaming _me_."

Allison stared down at the floor, as she walked. "I don't blame you for what happened to her, Scott. I mean . . . maybe I did a little, at first, but not anymore. I think I just needed time to . . ."

"You just needed time to _hump_ Derek Hale," Scott interrupted.

Allison's jaw dropped in shock. "Scott!" She scolded.

"Come on, Allison. I could smell him on you, the minute I entered the room. The least you could do is be honest with me."

Allison stopped walking. "We didn't have sex," she said.

Scott nodded, only partially relieved by this admission. "But you _did_ kiss him, didn't you? You let him touch you. You touched him . . ."

Allison frowned. "Scott, I don't think we should . . ."

"ANSWER ME!" Scott growled, his eyes beginning to glow.

"Yes," Allison admitted, her lower lip quivering. "It just happened, Scott. We weren't looking for it. Neither of us planned it . . . We . . ."

"Oh, so that's it. You're a 'we' now?" Scott demanded angrily.

Then, his face softened. "How could you do this to me, Allison?"

"Scott, we broke up. It was _your _idea that I see other people."

"I DIDN'T MEAN HIM!" Scott exclaimed.

"Yeah, you meant Matt . . . _The Serial Killer_, because that worked out _soooo_ well for me," Allison retorted.

Scott focused intently on Allison's eyes, trying to keep his own from blurring with tears. "Do you love him, Allison?"

"Scott . . . I . . ."

She didn't answer him. But the look on her face said everything. And Scott felt his world crumbling around him. "

"Did you ever consider that maybe he's only pretending to like you to get back at me for betraying him?" Scott asked.

"Don't be cruel, Scott," Allison warned.

But Scott was much too hurt to listen to reason. "Think about it, Allison. Why would he like _you_? I mean, you're, what, like 8, 9 years, younger than him? Don't you think he'd rather date someone his own age? Besides, you're an Argent. He's been trained to hate you, since birth. And don't think he didn't know what was going to happen to your mother the minute he sunk his teeth into her."

She slapped him then, right across the mouth. He felt his cheek burning, before he realized what had happened. When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Lydia asked angrily, before dashing after her friend. "ALLISON! WAIT UP!" She called.

Stiles smiled sadly, as he fell into stride next to his friend, punching him playfully in his stomach. "Aw, Scott, you made all the girls disappear. That's usually _my_ job."

"Yeah . . . well . . ." Scott offered, shrugging noncommittally. "So . . . you and Lydia . . . huh?"

Stiles tried to keep a straight face, but he was clearly beaming. "Is it _that_ obvious?"

"Yes, it's absolutely_ that_ obvious," Scott replied. "What happened with you two?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I mean, she came over. She was all upset about Jackson, and guilty about what she did to us at the party. And I was there, with all those ridiculous gifts I got for her birthday. So, we just started talking, and, as we talked, we just kept moving closer and closer together. And then, it just sort of . . ."

"_Happened_?" Scott concluded. "Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot lately."

Stiles patted his friend on the back. "Hey, listen. Don't worry about Allison. She'll come around. She always does."

"Not this time," replied Scott grimly. "I think she's in love with someone else."


	8. Chapter 8

"You shouldn't have come here," said Jackson, not bothering to turn around, as he held vigil in front of his parents' twin gravestones.

"And miss the chance to spend a Saturday night with my ex boyfriend in a creepy cemetery? I wouldn't dream of it," joked Lydia, as she daintily sat down next to the lacrosse team co-captain, careful as ever not to get any dirt on her designer jeans.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, contemplating the lives of these two virtual strangers resting beneath them, when Jackson broke Lydia out of her reverie, by speaking again. "You know what's strange? I don't even know what they looked like," mused Jackson. "I mean, I never had a picture, or anything. So, whenever I try to imagine them, the images in my head are usually of celebrities. Like, I'll make Brad Pitt or David Beckham my dad."

Lydia grinned. "If Brad Pitt or David Beckham was your dad, I'd be over your house all the time."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "You were over my house, all the time, anyway."

"True," admitted Lydia, with a shrug. "In my defense, you _did_ give me a key . . . So, who gets to play your mom?"

"See, this is a little harder," explained Jackson, as he tugged absentmindedly on a few blades of grass in front of him. "I mean, obviously, she had to have been good looking to have given birth to me," he insisted, almost completely without irony.

"Obviously," agreed Lydia, with a smirk.

"But, on the other hand, she can't be _too_ hot. Because I definitely don't want to picture my mom as any actress that I've ever . . . well . . . _you know . .."_

"Any actress that you've ever _what_?"

Jackson blushed. "Come on, Lydia. Don't make me say it."

Lydia stared blankly at Jackson for a few moments before the realization of what her ex had been trying to avoid saying dawned on her, "Oh . . . ew, no! I guess you _wouldn't _want to imagine your mother as one of _those _women. Wait a minute? How many actresses do you actually do _that with, _anyway_?"_

"Umm . . . a lot!"

"Jackson Whittemore! You are such a SLUT! Remind me never again to borrow copies of _Entertainment Weekly_ from you."

Scott and Stiles watched this exchange, hidden behind some nearby bushes. Every few seconds, Scott would glance over at Stiles with an expression of concern. "Hey, would you stop staring at me like that? You're kinda creeping me out with the puppy dog looks," Stiles scolded.

"Sorry," replied Scott, sheepishly. "I'm just . . . I don't know . . . wondering if you're OK with all _this . . . with them_ talking _like that."_

Stiles shrugged. "I mean, do I like it that they have a history? No. But I've been dreaming about dating Lydia, since I stopped thinking girls had cooties. Now, she's my actual girlfriend! I want to enjoy it! And I couldn't do that, if I spent all my time worrying about whether she's going leave me for her meathead ex. Besides, lizards are terrible kissers. I mean, they've got those long skinny tongues that just go in and out over and over again. I figure I gotta be better than that, right?"

Scott nodded. "That's one way of looking at it, I guess."

"It's the _only_ way," corrected Stiles. "Jackson's her past. I'm her future. I have to believe that."

"You _are_ her future," Scott agreed.

"And you're someone's future too," added Stiles, offering his friend a pat on the back. "Maybe you just haven't met her yet."

"Yeah," replied Scott, with a rueful smile. "I hope so."

"There's someone else here to see you," admitted Lydia, as Allison took her position behind the pair.

Jackson's eyes widened, as he scrambled to his feet. "Get her away from me!" He exclaimed.

"Jackson, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help," explained Allison calmly.

"You're going to _help_ me? How? By making me into your grandfather's slave? By turning me into that _Thing_ again? By making me kill Derek, Isaac, Erica, Boyd . . . maybe even_ Scott_? Thanks, but I can do without your brand of help!" Jackson insisted, taking slow, deliberate steps away from the young werewolf hunter, as he spoke.

Lydia put a comforting hand on Jackson's shoulder. "Listen, I read the books. You're a kanima, Jackson. And a kanaima needs to have a master. But your master doesn't have to be Gerard. It can be _Allison_."

"Can't _you_ be my Master?" Jackson asked Lydia plaintively.

Lydia laughed. "Uh, I don't think it works that way. Besides, I already have a boyfriend."

Somewhere, in the distance, Stiles could be heard whooping with joy . . .

"Once I'm your master, I'll never make you turn into that _Thing_ again, I promise," Allison pledged solemnly.

Jackson seemed to consider this for a moment. "How do I know I can trust you?" He asked.

"Because, _I _trust her," said Lydia.

"And _I _trust her," added Derek, as he stepped out of the shadows, and slipped his arms around Allison's waist.

"And we trust her," piped in Isaac, as the rest of Derek's wolf pack emerged behind him.

"We trust her too," said Scott, finally, as he and Stiles joined the rest of their friends.

Jackson shook his head. "You mean you've all been sitting here this whole time? That's just weird . . ."

"So, you'll do it?" Allison asked, looking intently into Jackson's eyes.

"Yeah, I'll do it," said Jackson finally. "You know, I've never turned into _it_ on purpose before."

"There's a first time for everything," Allison mused. "And a _last."_

Then, Jackson and Allison both closed their eyes, Jackson focusing on his loneliness, and his lack of identity, and Allison focusing on her anger over her mother's death. Two seconds later, Allison was clasping hands with the kanaima.

And, just like that, he was Jackson again . . .

"Aww, isn't that sweet?" An all-too-familiar voice exclaimed in the darkness.

All the wolves in the group, instinctively bared their fangs, as Gerard Argent moved through the crowd, like a slithering poisonous snake.

"Your days of bossing me around are done, Old Man," Jackson sneered, his fists clenched in barely contained rage.

"I know. I sure am going to miss those pancakes," joked Gerard. "And _you_," he said, turning his attention to Allison. "I have to say I'm disappointed. I thought you were strong, like your Aunt. But it turns out you are weak, like your _mother_."

"BITE ME!" Allison snarled.

"Ahh, see . . . that could actually be arranged. You know, I read something rather interesting in that bestiary of mine, last night . . . something about how abusing the powers of the kanaima, causes you to _become_ the kanaima. It sounded like a good plan to me, which is why I had Jackson kill an innocent homeless man, on the way over to the cemetery tonight."

"You what?" Jackson asked incredulously, his eyes filling with tears.

"You don't remember, do you? Maybe it's better that way," replied Gerard.

That was when Gerard Argent started to change. His skin hardened and took on a greenish color. His eyes turned yellow and reptilian. A tail emerged from his backside.

It was in that moment that the werewolf pack universally decided that the one thing worse than a kanaima Jackson was a kanaima_ Gerard_ . . .


	9. Chapter 9

"So, _that's it_? _That's_ what I look like, when I turn into the _kanaima_?" Jackson asked, as he stared in awe at the monster before him."

"Pretty much . . . yeah. Though, for what it's worth, I think your cheekbones are actually a little higher than his," replied Stiles, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wow . . . no wonder I was afraid of mirrors," mused Jackson, as Stiles and Lydia pulled him into the protection of the darkness.

Without exchanging a single word between them, Derek, Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Scott shifted in unison, and surrounded Gerard . . . growling, clawing, and pouncing at him from all sides. And yet, it didn't take them long to realize that, though they outnumbered the elder Kanaima five-to-one, Derek's pack was still woefully outmatched. With a single flick of his tail, the Kanaima sent both Isaac and Erica flying across the cemetery. Both young wolves landed on gravestones, and were knocked unconscious on impact.

Boyd had only slightly better luck, managing to send a few well-placed kicks and jabs in the lizard's direction, before the latter shot a mouthful of venom into the wolf's open, growling, mouth, temporarily paralyzing him from the neck down.

With only Derek and Scott left in the fight, the two wolves were forced to shift from an offensive strategy, to a defensive one. And though each wolf took a gallant turn blocking the other from frontal lizard attacks, they knew they wouldn't be able to hold him off forever . . .

So, you could imagine everyone's surprise when Allison Argent, who had been perched precariously on the upper limb of a nearby tree, propelled herself on top of Kanaima Gerard, and covered its eyes with her black-gloved hands, temporarily blinding him . . .

The Kanaima stumbled, whipping its tail back and forth angrily, as it tried to shake off the female werewolf hunter. But Allison held fast, finding the whole experience not entirely dissimilar to the time a few years back, when she rode the mechanical bull at a Honky Tonk Restaurant, during a family vacation to Montana. Somehow, she had managed to stay on the ride longer than men twice her age and size. She won a t-shirt for her trouble. Her father was beyond proud . . .

Seeing an opportunity, Derek and Scott pounced on the Kanaima together, each ripping a sizeable chunk of skin out of its stomach with their claws. The Kanaima staggered backward in pain, as the two wolves roared in triumph, believing that the tide of the battle had finally turned in their favor. That was when it happened . . .

The Kanaima lurched forward, and scraped its claw vertically down Derek's midsection, leaving a large gaping wound in his wake. Derek groaned in agony, as blood poured from his stomach. The injury caused him to shift immediately back into human form. When he fell to the floor, his face was deathly pale. Even the Kanaima seemed shocked by what he had done, turning its head to admire its own handiwork.

Allison screamed, as she leapt from the Kanaima's back, and rushed to Derek's side, immediately throwing off her gloves, so that she could cup his face in her bare hands. "You're going to be OK. You're going to be OK," she whispered tearfully, over and over again, as she placed his head in her lap, and delicately massaged his temples.

But the way that wound looked, she wasn't entirely sure . . .

"Allison," Derek whispered, trying to find the energy to speak, as the world grew dark and cold around him.

"Oh god, Derek. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," Allison cried, unable to see through the blur of her tears.

"No . . . Allison," Derek wheezed. "Please, don't blame yourself for this. I . . . I . . . love . . . you."

"Oh, Derek! I love you too!" Allison exclaimed.

But it was too late. Derek's eyes had rolled shut, before he had a chance to her hear her response.

"NOOOO!" Allison yelled, her screams of anguish echoing through the cemetery.

Jackson, Stiles and Lydia then emerged from the shadows, forming a semi-circle around the couple, with Scott following close behind them. Lydia knelt down to wrap her arms around her friend, as the latter turned and sobbed into her friend's chest. No one knew what to say. It was Jackson who finally broke the crowd's mournful silence.

"Allison, I know you said you would never force me to be the kanaima again. But please, let me avenge Derek for you."

Allison shook her head vigorously. "No, I couldn't ask you to do that, Jackson. Not after all you've been through."

Jackson knelt down toward Allison and took her hands in his. "Please, Allison. This monster inside me, it's taken _everything_. I'll never forgive myself for the things I've done . . . all the pain of caused the people of this town. Just let me do this one thing right."

Allison sighed, as she stared at Derek's seemingly lifeless body, taking his pulse with her fingertips. "We have to get him to the hospital," she said.

Scott placed his head on Derek's chest, and inhaled. "I'm afraid there's no time for that," he explained dolefully.

Allison sobbed. "I'm not leaving him like this."

"I'll stay with him," replied Scott, casting a meaningful look in Allison's direction.

Allison blinked, exchanging a look with Scott that said more to him than words ever could. "Thank you," she managed to utter.

Then, she turned her attention to Jackson. "Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked, rising to her feet.

Jackson nodded solemnly. "More than I've ever wanted to do anything."

"OK," said Allison finally, as she closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to darken with rage, as she pictured Gerard's laughing evil face, as the kanaima sliced into her lover's abdomen.

Jackson shuddered, and twitched, as he felt himself transform into the kanaima for one last time . . .

Despite what Stiles may have thought about Jackson's cheekbones, the two kanaimas looked so much alike that the group had trouble telling them apart. Unlike with the wolf pack, Kanaima Gerard found himself exactly evenly matched by Jackson. The two lizards boxed, parried and clawed at one another, sidestepping gravestone after gravestone, as they moved across the width of the cemetery, in a dance of death, knowing full well that one of them wasn't going to make it out alive. _But which one?_

Meanwhile, Scott was leaning over Derek's stomach, his tongue extended, as he gently licked the Alpha's large open wound. At first, nothing happened. And Scott feared he may have lost his friend and adversary for good. But then the wound slowly began to close.

Scott smiled softly, as the color returned to Derek's face, and his eyes fluttered open. "Please tell me you weren't licking me just now," Derek groaned.

"Way to be appreciative, asshat," Scott exclaimed with a smirk. "In case you haven't noticed, I just saved your life."

Derek managed a grin, as he sat up on his elbows. "Yeah, I guess I owe you one, man," he offered.

"More than one," remarked Scott, with a knowing wink.

The two wolves' eyes immediately wandered to the tall brunette female, who was currently engaged in watching the kanaima battle, attempting to control it with her mind, as best she could. "She's really something special, isn't she?" Scott mused.

"Yeah, she definitely is," replied Derek.

"Just . . . take care of her for me, OK?" Scott said, studiously avoiding the Alpha's eyes.

"I will," answered Derek, with a firm nod. "I promise."

Kanaima Jackson was getting tired. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to hold Gerard off. The thought of losing this battle to a man who had taken so much from Jackson and his friends, made him incredibly angry. In a rage, he lifted a nearby tombstone from the ground, holding it high over his head. He blanched when he saw the words inscribed in the cement. It was his _mother's _tombstone.

Up until this point, nobody knew that kanaimas could cry . . .

Suddenly, two ghostly figures appeared in the corner of the monster's vision. And though he had never seen them before, Jackson was pretty sure that they were his parents. And while they didn't look anything like Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie, to him, they were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen . . . .

"It's OK, Jackson," his mother said. "It's just a piece of cement. We'll always be with you, whether it's there or not."

"You're not alone Jackson," said his father, "those people over there," he continued, motioning toward Derek, Scott, Lydia and Stiles, "they are your _real_ family. They care about you, and made you the man you are today. So, do them a favor, and KILL THAT OLD UGLY PIECE OF CRAP."

If Jackson had any doubts before that this was the ghost of his dad, they were definitely gone now . . .

Jackson felt himself slowly regaining his own humanity. And, somehow, he knew that he would never be the kanaima ever again. He didn't _need_ to be . . . not anymore.

But still, Jackson had to act fast. With a triumphant yell, the lacrosse team co-captain hurled his mother's tombstone at the kanaima's head, instantly decapitating it. The teen watched with a mixture of horror and amazement, as the monstrous lizard's face fell to the floor with a thud, its now-headless body crumbling on top of it.

"I did it," said Jackson incredulously, staring down at the dead body of Gerard Argent, which had since morphed into naked human form. "I _can't believe_ I did it."

The entire gang surged forward to congratulate Jackson, and celebrate the demise of Gerard Argent. Whoops and cheers of excitement filled the cemetery. And, for the first time in his life, Jackson felt like he belonged.

Jackson's parents were right. _This _was his family. And he loved them all dearly . . . _even Stiles, _who was currently poking Gerard's head with a stick, while Lydia scolded him for being "inappropriate and gross."

Only Allison hung back from the crowd . . . mourning the loss of the grandfather she used to know, the one that snuck her candy when she was a little kid, and her parents wouldn't let her have sweets . . . the grandfather who bought her water guns, and Nerf balls for her birthdays, when everyone else bought her Barbies and dresses. But most of all, she mourned for Derek, who had clawed his way into her heart, and who, now, she couldn't imagine living life without . . .

"Hey . . . decapitated kanaima head for your thoughts?"

Allison spun around to see Derek standing behind her. With a sigh of relief, she threw her arms around him, wetting his chest with grateful tears, as he rubbed her back with one hand, while running his fingers through her hair with the other. "I thought you were . . ." she began.

"I know," Derek replied.

"I love you so much, Derek. I thought I'd never get the chance to tell you," Allison said, looking up into the Alpha's large expressive eyes, as she ran her fingers up and down the toned muscles in his arms.

"I love you too, Allison Argent . . . more than I ever thought I could love anyone," he replied, pulling her in for a deep and passionate kiss.

And as the enemies-turned lovers embraced, rejoicing in the feel of one another's bodies against their skin, the world around them seemed to melt away, in a _burning ring of fire_ . . .


End file.
